


Snakes & Landlords

by epeolatry



Series: Halcyon Days [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bahorel has a pet snake, Casual Sex, I know some people really hate snakes, Implied Relationships, M/M, Rough Sex, So all due warning has been given, There's a snake guys, snake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another morning after in Bahorel & Feuilly's flat</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snakes & Landlords

“Where’s Cassius?”

 

“Eh?”

 

Feuilly was already dressed in his dusty work clothes, standing in the bedroom doorway looking in at Bahorel with one eyebrow raised.

 

“Where’s Cassius?”

 

“I dunno,” grunted Bahorel irritably, the sudden inquisition doing much less to cure his hangover than Feuilly sucking him off half an hour earlier had done, “Have you tried looking in his tank?”

 

“Oh thank fuck you’re here!” bit out the redhead sarcastically, “I’d never have thought of that myself. _Of course I looked in the fucking tank_. The first place I usually look for your stupid snake isn’t the fucking washing machine!”

 

“Calm your tits,” groaned Bahorel, shifting under the covers and finding himself hard again already, “He won’t have gone far, he’s only a baby.”

 

“That makes me feel so much better,” snapped Feuilly, “A _baby_ python loose in our apartment. I’m sure our landlord will be greatly reassured that he’s just a _baby_ , or had you forgotten the inspection today?”

 

“No,” Bahorel shot back sulkily.

 

_Yes_.

 

“Well find him before the old man arrives. I gotta go to work.”

 

Bahorel knew Feuilly was only in a bad mood because it was near the end of the month and both their bank accounts and cigarette supplies were dwindling. Plus he’d missed out on a brilliant night out the evening before because of work… The boxer could think of a few ways to make it up to him later, and the thoughts made his already half-hard cock stir.

 

Bahorel dragged himself out of bed with a grunt as the front door slammed, not bothering to put on any clothes, and made his way to the kitchen where he hoped Feuilly might have left him some coffee.

 

As he searched in vain for a clean mug, a gravelly voice from the sofa made him jump as it called, “What’s the story, morning glory?”

 

Bahorel looked around to see a mess of dark curls and a lopsided grin emerging from a pile of blankets on the sofa.

 

“It’s rude to stare y’know,” chided Bahorel jokingly, noticing Grantaire’s reddened eyes fixated on his half erect dick.

 

“I’m not particularly known for adhering to societally enforced rules of politeness,” replied Grantaire, licking his lips before offering, “Fancy a blowjob?”

 

“I’d rather fuck you,” replied Bahorel conversationally.

 

“Yeah, alright.”

 

It was a long standing casual arrangement of theirs – Feuilly, Bahorel, and Grantaire – getting drunk and fucking around, using one another to relieve stress and sexual tension, or even just boredom.

 

“C’mere then.”

 

Grantaire pouted, “ _I’m_ the one about to take it up the ass. _You_ come _here_.”

 

Bahorel rolled his eyes, “You fucking love taking it up the ass, you little bitch,” but he made his way over to the sofa anyway, his cock already swelling at the anticipation of what was to come.

 

Grantaire threw off the last of the sheets and Bahorel saw that he too was hard inside his boxer shorts. It was likely he’d simply woken up that way but Bahorel liked to flatter himself that his own naked body had played some small part…

 

“How do you want me?” purred Grantaire with hooded eyes as Bahorel towered over him.

 

Bahorel knew how Grantaire liked to play and he grabbed the artist’s shoulders roughly, pinning him to the sofa with his significant body weight. Grantaire thrashed beneath him, almost dislodging the larger man and managing to headbutt him in the process. The blow was more playful than vicious, but Bahorel’s nose was still bruised from a fight he’d lost earlier in the week, and Grantaire hit him hard enough to draw out a sluggish trickle of blood that ran down his face and over his lips.

 

“Fucker!” barked Bahorel as sparks danced behind his eyes, his headache considerably worsened by the impact, and the tang of fresh blood hot on his tongue, “You’ll pay for that!”

 

Grantaire grinned devilishly up at him, both hands pinned above his head as he taunted, “I’m counting on it.”

 

“Slut,” growled Bahorel, low and threatening, pulling Grantaire’s boxers off inch by painfully slow inch, leaving them tangled around the artist’s knees, further incapacitating him.

 

Grantaire had ceased his struggles and he merely whimpered as Bahorel’s hot palm closed firmly around his cock, not stroking but merely enveloping him in that huge hand, surrounding him with heat and pressure.

 

“I’m gonna make you scream,” Bahorel promised, breath hot on Grantaire’s throat as the artist shivered, “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to get up off this sofa. Then Feuilly’s gonna come home and see you all fucked out, and he’ll know exactly what you let me do to you. Then he’s gonna take his turn on you. Maybe we’ll both fuck you at the same time, you’d like that wouldn’t you? You filthy cockwhore.”

 

Bahorel wasn’t usually one for dirty talk but he knew that Grantaire got off on the threat in his voice, and the reactions he could wring from the artist with mere words excited him.

 

He sank his teeth into Grantaire’s bared throat and the body beneath him shuddered and groaned wantonly, the tight fist around Grantaire’s cock and the grip on his wrists seemingly the only things anchoring him. Bahorel worked his way down Grantaire’s neck, leaving red marks with his teeth and purple bruises with his mouth as he ground his hips down into Grantaire, their stiff cocks sliding against one another, wet with precome.

 

By the time Bahorel pulled back, a feral grin twisting his features nastily, Grantaire was panting out incoherent pleas and curses in equal measure.

 

“Shut up,” growled Bahorel, yanking Grantaire’s boxers off him and shoving two thick fingers roughly past Grantaire’s lips, “You know what comes next.”

 

Grantaire fellated his fingers with such enthusiasm and skill that Bahorel began to regret turning down the offer of a blowjob; the artist was uncommonly skilled with his mouth. Before he could embarrass himself Bahorel jerked the digits suddenly away with a wet noise and smirked.

 

“Spread ‘em.”

 

The couch wasn’t the ideal location for missionary-style sex, but Grantaire threw one leg over the back of the sofa and left the other dangling toward the floor, exposing himself as much as possible to Bahorel’s wolfish grin. Bahorel hooked Grantaire’s lifted leg over his shoulder and said a silent prayer of thanks for Grantaire’s years as a gymnast, as the artist easily folded into himself.

 

“Slut,” grinned Bahorel again.

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, “Yes, we all know I love dick. Would you just get on with it?”

 

Bahorel sniggered, “You are _so_ not the one in charge here,” but he spread Grantaire’s cheeks wide with one large hand and spat onto his hole; it was something he’d seen in a porn film and something that he had rightly guessed Grantaire would love, judging by the debauched moan that greeted his experiment.

 

Bahorel pushed a slick finger fully inside and earned a sharp hiss from Grantaire that degenerated into another low moan as he began to work the digit in and out.

 

“You like that?” he muttered, unable to look away from the way Grantaire’s body grasped at him, pulled him in, the way the other boy’s hips rocked down to meet him as he moaned, “ _More_.”

 

Bahorel pushed a second finger in just as quickly as the first and began scissoring them, stretching Grantaire wide and revelling in the keening whimpers he was pulling from the other boy.

 

“Just fuck me already!” gritted out Grantaire after a few more minutes of teasing preparation.

 

“My pleasure,” murmured Bahorel, his voice a deep rumble in his chest, “Uh, condom?”

 

“Pocket,” grunted Grantaire, pointing to his jeans on the floor.

 

Keeping one hand moving inside Grantaire and using the other to fish out and open a condom was no mean feat, but Bahorel managed it. Once it was rolled on he slammed his fingers as deeply inside Grantaire as he could and asked, “Lube?”

 

Grantaire yelped, then replied desperately, “Fuck it, just do it!” while rocking his hips back onto Bahorel’s hand.

 

Bahorel hesitated. Grantaire was well prepared but so far they’d only used spit, and without sounding too smug Bahorel knew he was thicker than average. Of course he didn’t want to hurt Grantaire, but Grantaire was asking for it – _begging_ for it, even – and it was common knowledge that the artist got off on a little pain… With Grantaire writhing below him and urging him to, “ _Fucking get on with it already!”_ Bahorel compromised; he withdrew his fingers (to a hiss of displeasure from Grantaire), spat again on his stretched hole (another groan), and pushed in as slowly as he could manage, unable to stop the embarrassingly high pitched whine that escaped him as he bottomed out.

 

“Fuck. Yes,” Grantaire bit out breathily, “God you’re big. Fucking hurts. But good!” he hastily added, as Bahorel began to slide out of him, “Good hurt, the best hurt. Just… God, just move, yeah?”

 

Bahorel obliged, gently at first, his keen awareness of the lack of lubrication coupled with Grantaire’s worrying propensities toward self harm keeping his libido in check.

 

But it soon became clear that pain or not, Grantaire was enjoying himself, urging Bahorel on with one leg wrapped tightly around the boxer’s thick waist, and that gave Bahorel the green light to do the same. His thrusts became rougher, faster, his hips slamming into Grantaire as he pressed the artist further onto himself, both of them making obscene noises. Grantaire yelped and tensed up deliciously as Bahorel found the right angle, and the boxer grabbed Grantaire’s cock and began pumping, knowing he couldn’t last much longer.

 

“Fuck me!” yelped Grantaire suddenly.

 

“That’s the idea,” grunted Bahorel, slamming back in.

 

“No, I mean – _fuck!_ – I mean stop, Bahorel!”

 

Bahorel stopped immediately and pulled halfway out, concerned, but he was bewildered when Grantaire started laughing.

 

“Fucking hell,” wheezed Grantaire, “Turn around!”

 

Bahorel did so, and there on the back of the sofa, almost close enough to touch Bahorel’s elbow where it rested, slithered Cassius.

 

“Why is your snake perving on us?” laughed Grantaire, every chuckle causing his muscles to tighten around Bahorel’s sensitive head, forcing the boxer to fight back a moan and cover it with a snigger instead.

 

“Hey little guy,” he cooed, leaving Grantaire whining as he pulled out to pick up the inquisitive baby python and allow it to wind around his wrist, “Where’ve you been?”

 

“Don’t you remember taking him out last night?”

 

“…No?”

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, “When will you learn that you can’t match me drink for drink? When we got home, you- ”

 

A knock at the door interrupted them and Bahorel swore, “Fucking hell, it’s all go this morning!” He grabbed Grantaire’s too-small boxers and yanked them on, the thin material doing very little to hide his throbbing erection as he opened the door and grunted, “Yes?”

 

The elderly landlord took one look at the towering hulk of a mostly naked man before him, scarred, tattooed, and pierced, clearly sporting an impressive hard on, with a snake wound around one brawny forearm and dried blood crusted around his nose and suggested, “Not a good time lad?”

 

“Not really, no,” conceded Bahorel as Grantaire sniggered in the background, doing his level best _not_ to conceal his own nudity.

 

“I’ll come back same time tomorrow then,” nodded the older man, “And I’d appreciate it if you could be ready for me. Maybe clean up a little as well.”

 

Bahorel nodded back with a tight smile then closed the door and burst out laughing, startling Cassius who attempted to throttle Bahorel’s thick wrist in self defence.

 

“Dude… Why does he even let you stay here?” sniggered Grantaire.

 

Bahorel shrugged, “Feuilly pays our rent on time I guess.”

 

“Good man,” smiled Grantaire wryly, as Bahorel gently deposited Cassius back in his tank, switched on his heat lamp, and closed the lid.

 

“Now are you going to finish what you started?”

 

Bahorel mused for a moment, “Dunno, I’m not really in the mood anymore…”

 

“Oh, you fucker!” snarked Grantaire, throwing a cushion that smacked Bahorel hard in the crotch just as he was yanking Grantaire’s boxers off.

 

“Ow! Alright, just for that I’ll have to teach you a lesson!” Bahorel leapt onto the sofa and slid right into Grantaire with no preamble, making the artist snarl in a confused mixture of surprise, pain, and pleasure.

 

“You fucker,” repeated Grantaire on a groan, as Bahorel fucked into him ruthlessly.

 

“You love it,” panted Bahorel, a mischievous grin on his face as Grantaire shuddered and began to fall apart beneath him.


End file.
